The Burn
by girlintheyankeeshat
Summary: Final chapter: A missed basket isn't always a bad omen: Luka, Abby and an unwelcoming morning.
1. The Burn

Title: The Burn  
  
Rating: PG-13 for just a little strong language.  
  
Disclaimer: The ER characters are not my property.   
  
Summary: In the midst of changeable weather, Abby offers Luka comfort and coffee. An additional scene for Drive, (10.22)   
  
Spoilers: Spoilers for Drive, the season ten finale, as I know there are some who still haven't seen it yet.   
  
Reviews: Please R&R, I appreciate the comments. Thanks.   
  
Some days, the rain comes as if it is sent from hell. Sheets of ice-cold, driving, needling water must be the work of the devil, or perhaps even thrown from Poseidon's trident with no more than a casual shrug. This was one of those days, yet the rain was often disrupted with clean, sharp blades of sunlight, the weather having difficulty making its mind up if it was going to be miserable or sublime. So it remained undecided, taunting, playing, jesting.   
  
Abby wished she hadn't chosen this moment for a celebratory cigarette, as the air was horrid, sluggish and saturated with dampness. She glanced up for a moment and even though there was so much in front of her eyes, everything seemed to be dominated by sound. Water was tripping off gutters, smashing into windows, dropping sadly onto the ground. What a fucked-up day to mark a turning point in your life, she thought, eyeing the godly tip of what she swore would be her last cigarette. So she took her sweet time, exhaling slowly as if every drag was a thought and not just a mere reflection. Finally, she looked up properly to allow herself a break from the nervous mass of noise coagulating around her. The crystal-cut raindrops a symphony on the rooftops, the occasional thunder a growl of a snare drum in the sky.   
  
Languidly, Luka appeared in her line of vision, his dominant, tall figure strangely compacted, his arms folded around himself, hugging smooth leather slick with rain to his frame. His face was pale, almost ghostly, he passed a damp hand through his wet hair as if he were passing it through an insignificant shadow. Eyes set to the ground, as if he were tracing the cracks in the pavement like an apprehensive child. Finally he looked up, tearing his gaze from the grey ground, but he knew that not even a familiar face would do little to dissipate these clouds of anger and confusion building slowly within. He had asked himself so many questions over the past few hours, now they had just turned to unreason and base emotion.   
  
Abby felt a pang of concern as he moved closer, eyes tired and redundant, colour slightly drained from his face. Yet still, of course, looking strangely attractive with the mask of melancholy drawn across his features. Although he did not look nearly as bad as he had done when ill, she found her words accordingly.   
  
"I didn't think there were mosquitoes in Chicago."   
  
Not even the relative strangeness of the sentence piqued his interest. He made no comment, refusing any kind of communication. What use were words? She almost let him pass by, but instinct was telling her that something was awry.  
  
"Luka. What's going on? You look like shit."   
  
Thank God for Abby's frankness, he thought to himself, knowing she was probably right, utterly surprised to find himself fighting back a sneaky little smile.   
  
Instead, Luka managed a mirthless laugh. "Sam...she's gone." His tone conveyed the perceived, immediate permanence of the situation. The hint of happiness was soon gone, washed away like footprints in the sand.   
  
"Where?"   
  
"No idea."   
  
She swiftly remembered her earlier conversation with Carter about Sam's troubles, not that that made it right.   
  
"Running away's the easy part. She'll be back. Who wouldn't want to return to this funfair?" She exhaled a sad coil of smoke, watching the expressions on his face with keen interest. His demeanour had not changed, a mist of secrecy, hurt and anger building a wall that she was anxious to break down.   
  
"Sorry, I'm not helping, am I?" Abby asked quietly, changing tact. "What are you doing here, anyway?" "You're not working tonight."   
  
"I thought it might give me something else to think about," he said quietly, hearing the rain begin to slow, the droplets hanging in the air with a contemplative despondency. Of course, work was probably the worst kind of distraction, but anything was better than allowing his mind to turn over the "What-ifs?" in his head. Luka moved to walk past, the warm bright lights seeming to beckon, but with a swift bout of strength and confidence, Abby blocked him off, gently taking hold of an icy-wet, leather-clad arm. Then applying slight pressure, slight comfort. Finally making minimal eye contact, she shook her head in a light dismissal.  
  
"No. Go home, have a shower, go to bed. Doctor's orders."   
  
"You passed." A slight smile this time, not a hint of questioning or doubt.  
  
"I knew you would," he continued, permitting himself to feel a little better.  
  
"Is everyone around here psychic?" She wondered, remembering Carter's earlier confidence in her abilities.   
  
"What?" Confusion crept into his expression.   
  
"Never mind," Abby replied, rolling her eyes, flicking off ash casually and then glancing back up at him. "Seriously. Get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning." Her eyes seemed to transmit the certainty of her statement, dark, concentrated, sympathetic; fusing some certain emotion as their gazes met. Luka wanted to believe her, but he knew this feeling too well. The numb, startled emptiness that did not get better overnight, sometimes it divided and decayed you like radiation. Maybe it would be easier than he thought, not sure that he had had the time to properly define his feelings. She rubbed his arm slowly, a delicate rhythm, the material and water slick against her palm.   
  
"You want to get some coffee?" She threw the butt of her cigarette into the mournful, twisting wind, and then the alight end was quickly quenched by the dark pools of water on the pavement. "A last cigarette is never complete without coffee." Abby searched for his eyes, but Luka was gazing at the ground again. He had been momentarily troubled by the way the scalding cigarette had been voided with a violent fizzle as the cold conquered the heat. Something powerful to nothing in an instant. The way of his world.   
  
"That must be your thousandth 'last cigarette,'" he replied, avoiding her question, but permitting the slightest curve of a smile as she stood there in front of him, changing, and for the better. Maybe she was setting an example to follow.   
  
"I may have a medical degree now, but I don't quite believe I'm perfect just yet."   
  
This time he laughed softly, defiance and humour wrapped in her tone.   
  
"I should go back home," Luka said slowly, not sure if he wanted to unburden, not sure if his company would be any use at all. Almost certain that the answer lied in the bottom of a vodka bottle somewhere, the relief transparent and temporary.   
  
"C'mon, we can talk about it, or something else if you want." "It's all part of the upgraded-to-doctor service." "All for free."   
  
He managed another smile, reading the subtext in her words and replying suitably, "Which means that I'm paying." He knew that it would do no harm to try and make some sense of it, to take some comfort from a friend. So he gave in. Wasn't it better to try and work through these difficult moments?   
  
"Absolutely. Until I earn your salary, which will approximately be when hell freezes over." Her voice was as playful as the weather, the grey and black clouds swapping positions like ice dancers in the sky.   
  
"I always liked the winter." Melancholy and a deft touch of humour lingered in his words. Luka slid his hands deep into his pockets, finally disconnecting from the solace of her touch.   
  
"Are you going to try and convince me that I'm not going to be totally coloured by this experience?" Even though she sensed something harsh and sad in his words, she also felt as if he was playing a very familiar game.   
  
"I think you mean jaded." She paused thoughtfully. "Green really isn't your colour." Luka submitted to a wry grin, feeling her humour chipping away at his hurt. Abby shrugged her shoulders, restless. "C'mon, I need my caffeine."   
  
"Nicotine isn't enough?"   
  
"I'm being high-maintenance for today," she said, folding her arms, not feeling guilty at radiating a satisfied grin.   
  
"Maybe I should warn your patients, then," he said quietly, his heart not fully in the joke, but at least he was trying. Before she could construct a reply, he turned around so that he was facing in the same direction, slightly mesmerised by the water dripping from the roof. Despite the dancing droplets, the rain had actually stopped, the greying clouds glinting at the edges with just a hint of sunlight.   
  
The air was still misty, cold and unrelenting; his eyes followed the lights, wondering where they were going, and who was following them. Wondering about what could have been. He exhaled sharply, the ice in the air trying to paralyse him with a comfortable numbness. Grey was soon intersected with another little trip of sunlight, and they began to walk away. Slowly, Abby reached out and gently placed her palm in the small of his back. As Luka sensed the burn of her palm stir a slow comfort into his veins, he knew that he had felt it resting there before, and somehow knew that he would feel it again. Slowly, the sun began to scorch its way through the heavy, aching clouds, eventually replacing the shadows with light. 


	2. The Temporary, The All

Title: The Burn

Disclaimer: The ER characters or any products mentioned are not my property.

Author's Note: I never intended to carry this on, but after so much positive feedback I saw it as a challenge and kept writing. Sorry it took so long! Thanks to all that helped me with this, from the jokey dialogue, to stopping me from falling off the back of a London bus, which I fear may have ended my writing attempts for some time! And of course to all who reviewed chapter 1 :)

Reviews: Always appreciated. I have some idea where I'm going, but the comments always keep me going. Thanks.

The late afternoon sky was angry. Irritated and iridescent, its pungent red and inflamed orange scowled yet did not sear. Dark would be guilefully approaching, so vivid signs began to illuminate. Neon flowed in fluorescent circles, the circuiting gas a timely reminder: as colourful and enchanting as it was, it was also temporary. It would always burn away.

Inside, the television news flickered impatiently in the corner, demanding attention from the mainly tired eyes that contemplated cake, coffee and life. Spoons stirred with delicate motions, sugar fell in grainy perfection, noise was paramount. Sunlight glanced off the edge of an inverted spoon as Abby ran a slick flow of cream over the back of it into rich, dark coffee.

"Just a little trick I learned once," she said, glancing across at Luka with enigmatic eyes, watching the lighter liquid layer on the dark, like Guinness.

"You're not meant to play with your food." His reply was still heavy with disappointment, his comedic attempts falling short.

"Well, if I ever manage to _eat_ coffee, I'll let you know."

He submitted to a slight smile. Slowly, his gaze moved to the windowsill, where raindrops rested like a row of pearls, each translucent ball gleaming in the sunlight. The coffee was strong, bitter on his tongue, the very taste of failure and loss.

"Long day, huh?" Abby continued, making the conversation.

Luka nodded, pushing his palm against the edge of his coffee cup, heat scorching onto his skin.

"You did a lot of good today." "Don't forget that."

"You would have done the same."

"I would have been a lot less effective." He sensed some self-doubt, something sad creeping through her tone.

"I didn't say you could join the self-pity club."

She smiled, catching the fragile humour in his voice, then laughed, elegantly twisting her spoon to mix the coffee and cream.

"I'm an ex-member, I got thrown out for good behaviour." Playful light fizzed against her dark eyes, a dazzling contradiction. Unable to help himself, Luka smiled. Then he wondered sadly if this apparent mirth was just a mask, just a mere expression which betrayed his feelings. Contradicting emotions seemed to fluctuate slowly through him. Should he feel guilty for being comforted; for trying to find some peace, or angry for being left?

For a few moments silence hung between them, a silence they both hated but somehow could not break for a while. Slow, light reams of sunlight were gradually being enveloped by gentle gloves of darkness, the day curled into a fist and thrown away. Luka watched nature's battle with tired, confused eyes, the marbling of white, blue and orange only making him more tired and more confused. Night would come to surround him, to highlight the solitude, a dark, cowering, ugly beast.

"You're not the one running away," Abby said affirmatively, trying to create some kind of positive insight.

"We're all running away from something," he replied sadly, gaining her attention with his troubled stare. As he hopelessly remembered women all too easily running away from him, wondering if he should reach out and touch her, to make sure she was still real. She leant back casually before replying.

"So, you're a doctor of philosophy now?" Her wistful smile made the joke crystal clear.

"Career change seems to be doing you good," Luka said, genuinely pleased, almost envious, always affected by her display of contentment.

"That and my secret life as a hooker." Neither her voice nor her face was serious. Finally, her humorous tact was becoming a kind of catalyst to disperse some of the pain he was feeling as he gave in to another grin. The wound was still raw and open, there was no use in trying to analyse the situation early on, time often the best for providing some answers in these situations. So a little light entertainment would suffice for now, or at least an attempt at it.

"Seriously, though. I think it has something to do with spending some time on my own." "I think you could use it too."

"I'll just sit there wondering what I did wrong, how I could have changed things." He despised the powerlessness of the situation so much, it seemed almost like a poison, the more he thought about it, the more it troubled him.

She shook her head lightly, exhaling, pressing her fingertips against the rim of her cup.

"I've been there. When Carter came back from Africa first time round, they told us you were dead. I all but begged him to stay, to try and sort things out. If he'd listened to me, then you would have died." Abby took a moment to process this, almost feeling a slight sense of guilt.

"Maybe not. They were strange circumstances."

"All I'm trying to say is..sometimes good things come out of the bad stuff."

"I'll believe you. In time."

This was what made medicine so easy sometimes, physical problems had distinct remedies, often singular diagnoses. They were not complex like emotional or mental strife.

"Besides, you have the best thing for spending time alone."

"What?" Luka was suddenly intrigued, confusion and captivation permeating his despondency.

"PlayStation 2."

He chuckled, glanced at the window, and then turned back to her.

"It's better with two players," he replied. She sensed just a slight flirtatiousness in his tone, a little fun, always welcome.

"Is that an invitation to play?" Abby's tone was teasing, as she ran her thumb delicately along the edge of her cup, meeting his fascinated stare.

He took a slow, long sip of his coffee, giving her an agonising wait for his response. "If you want, but you know that I'll beat you."

"I wouldn't make any bets."

The beginning of their amusing rivalry was quickly interrupted by the unexpected sound of a pager.

"Shit." Abby cursed softly, immediately pushing her elbows into the table and covering her eyes with her palms, trying to block away the sound of her imminent departure, hair falling forward in a flash of colours. She juggled the pager from her waist into her hands and switched it off, then rose to get up.

"I promised Susan I would go and see her tonight, so I'll come and see you tomorrow."

"Don't waste your time off. You don't have to baby-sit me," Luka replied, trying not to sound ungrateful.

"I'm just dying for some Sonic the Hedgehog," she replied, finding some comic energy from somewhere.

"I don't have Sonic the Hedgehog."

"Sure you do." Just before going, she paused, squeezing his shoulder warmly.

Minutes later, Luka left, reluctantly stepping out into what was a surprisingly warm but painfully dark evening. A streaky indigo sky allowed only hard, charcoal outlines; the buildings angular, dim rectangles; the trees wispy black wires. The misty, clawing atmosphere hung around him like a curse, as his racing thoughts returned to the forefront of his mind. Somehow he longed for tomorrow, with its light, its unbroken promises. He crossed the street, footsteps echoing off the cold concrete; an empty, hollow noise. In an opposite window, the shocking orange-red of a neon sign glowed peacefully, before it flickered, fizzed, and silently went out.


	3. City of the Big Shoulders

Title: The Burn

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: The ER characters or any products mentioned do not belong to me.

Author's Note: Sorry for the huge delay, a few edits were needed to get this how I wanted it! I'm very unspoiled for season eleven, so I just decided for the purposes of this that Chen and Pratt survived their shooting ordeal. Oh, and just in case it isn't as international as I think it is (or indeed hope!), Absolut is a Swedish vodka which also comes in flavours, like vanilla and mandarin. I've also never been to Chicago, so I hope my research was correct! Thanks for all the input so far and please continue to let me know what you think, the feedback keeps me going! Thanks.

Still, clear water lay undisturbed in a glass. Seconds later, the calm was disrupted as two tablets were dropped in. Violent fizzes crackled through the air, sublime reactions turning the liquid miserably pale, white particles decaying in a misty, effervescent battle. A delicate finger toyed with the sickening substance, stirring cautiously, almost aimlessly, before wet fingertips offered the unwanted mixture. Bubbles jumped excitedly in the air just above the surface and a faint lemony aroma teased the atmosphere.

At that moment Luka's eyes seemed derisive, causing Abby to seriously wonder why she was there. It was still reasonably early, last night's tempestuous weather forgotten and erased by a golden, hopeful sun bobbing in amongst the patches of puffy, dark grey cloud. Rain threatening from the East. Then again, she thought, aware of the irony, she knew all about the best hangover cures. None of the evidence of drinking had been hidden either, the rounded, stout bottle of Absolut Vanilla seeming to glow on the table, half-empty, its silver lid still loose.

"How are you?" She asked, sitting down, instinctively tightening the bottle's cap, knowing how easy it was to believe that drinking yourself numb was a good idea.

"I'm fine, Abby. Nobody died." Luka's reply was sharp, but not as vitriolic as the taste of bitter, medicinal citrus on his tongue. Besides, a caustic comment was the only response he could construct. He could not define his emotions. Maybe he was feeling a little numb, slightly empty, but no overwhelming feeling had gripped him yet. Just little aggravations. Building slowly within.

"And I didn't need that," he continued, emphasising his words by putting the glass down fiercely, the remnants slopping around in the bottom. Somehow seeing the concern in her eyes left him strangely aggravated. Inside, she felt a reasonable triumph at the fact that he had actually drunk the potion she had so confidently concocted, but also a little hurt by his harsh words.

"So your girlfriend left you yesterday and now you're just jumping over the moon?" Biting sarcasm shot through her tone causing him to feel even more aggrieved; anger and confusion rising within like mercury in a thermometer.

"Since when were you the expert on my emotions?"

"Since I give a damn about you." Abby's voice a little louder, calculated, edged with reason, peppered with an aggravation that she hoped would alleviate his hopeless mood. Luka finally dared to look at her, seeing the furtive frustration fixed in her gaze, one palm flat against the table as if she were marking it with her immediate concern.

"I'm sorry..I'm being.."

"A pain in the ass?" A flicker of a smile flourished for both of them as she interrupted.

"I was going to say difficult," he assured, finally joining her at the table.

"You're more eloquent. Must be the second language thing."

"So how was last night?" Luka knew he was changing the subject, but the frosted glass bottle that sat between them, its curved edges distorting their reflections, was the silent narrative of the past twelve hours he had endured. So he wanted to know what had happened to her since she left him there, looking at the remains of his coffee, dark and ugly like despair.

"Eventful." "Chen and Pratt got shot at."

His eyes widened, with concern and disbelief, but not with the faintest expression of shock. "Are they OK?"

"They'll be fine. We always take care of our own." They both heard the significance, the tone of someone who knew all too well what it was like watching your colleagues suffer, then trying to put them back together both physically and emotionally.

"Then I went to Susan's thinking it was possible that I might have to deliver her child on the kitchen floor." One traumatic event was nearly always the catalyst for another.

"And did you?" Luka was now more than intrigued, glad for any distraction, toying with the salt pot as he spoke.

"She wishes." Abby smiled, folding her arms casually, leaning back, almost rocking in the chair. "She's practically crawling up the wall."

"Then you must be too tired for video games, then," he said slowly, remembering last night's conversation. Flashing images and colours would not be kind to his bleary eyes either.

"Trying to get rid of me?" She raised a speculative eyebrow, teasing.

"No. But seriously, you must have something better to do." Fluctuating emotions wavered through him. As much as he wanted her to stay, he also wanted to remove her from his melancholy. She did not deserve to be dragged into the uncertainty and chaos which scratched under his skin. Dark tiredness was scarred under his eyes like the smudged mascara of a weeping woman. His head heavy with too much alcohol and too many thoughts.

"No." "Anyway, change of plan. Get your coat. We're going out." Abby's demeanour was so assertive he knew he was unable to resist. However, Luka cast a speculative gaze towards the window, watching the clouds merging up above.

"We might get caught in the rain," he said flatly, regarding her seriously.

Blinking away his doubts, she stood up, carefully removing her coat from the back of the chair, then pulling it on hastily.

Abby confidently flicked her hair from underneath the collar, then straightened it out in a graceful manner. "Easy on the optimism Luka, you'll wear it out."

* * *

They stood, contemplative, like tourists scanning Mona Lisa's smile or admiring the Sphinx's gigantic paws. Unconsciously mirroring each other, shoulders set, eyes forward, hands dug deep into the pockets of their leather coats. Their subject was the centrepiece of Chicago's Millennium Park, Cloud Gate, a metallic sculpture, seeming to resemble mercury being dropped out of the sky. Faint sunlight enhanced its curvaceous edges, making it shine robustly as if it were the centre of the very universe. 

"You think it's worth eleven and a half million dollars?"

Luka shrugged, the movement of his shoulders creasing and squeaking against his jacket. "Imagine what that money could do for County."

"Have more doctors thinking about their wage bills?" A humorous defiance wrapped around her words as he turned to face her.

"You won't be complaining in a couple of years."

"Not about the money. Maybe about the caffeine, nicotine, stress and late nights robbing away my youthful beauty." Something in her mockery always seemed to strike a chord with him, there was something so fresh, eager and enchanting about it.

"You seem to be coping so far," he replied slowly, a little intensity circling in his eyes.

Abby knew there was a veiled compliment in there somewhere.

"I'm a master of disguise," she replied enigmatically, before her attention was caught by a scruffy youth on a skateboard, wheels churning, cigarette poking from his mouth, the end sending out an enticing glow.

"God, I want a cigarette," she announced, meaning to just think it, tightening her fists inside her pockets to alleviate the craving.

"My cheery demeanour getting to you already?" Luka asked, moving away to go and sit down on a nearby bench, coat flapping slightly in the breeze.

Abby chuckled softly, following, sitting down, sliding her hands from her pockets and putting them over her knees.

"You hear anything last night?" Her tone slight, somehow reminding them both why they were there.

"No. I'm not even sure if I want Sam to come back...yet." She noted the significance of the pause: a contemplative space which Luka had easily fallen into. As he wondered if he should have seen it coming, if it was already fading away, what with Steve and both of them practically trying to avoid each other.

"Maybe it was already over," he said aloud, finally some kind of cohesive thought out in the open. Yet why had he asked her to stay?

"A third person in the mix doesn't help." Her statement was blunt with the sharpness of experience, relevant to them both, as their gazes locked for a moment.

"How's Carter?" It was not an unconscious leap. In another place, at another time, they may have been amused.

"You should talk to him," Abby urged.

Luka nodded solemnly. Somehow he could already visualise a conversation in an empty room, still with grief and silence. Knowing that no words could ever compensate for the hole that grief tore so violently and so callously.

This time he was pulled from his reverie by the caress of a single raindrop.

They both eyeballed the sky instantly, as instinct often drives one to when the heavens open.

"I told you it was going to rain," he said calmly, as the rhythm of the falling water began to increase.

"I'm going to call you Mr. Optimistic from now on," she suggested, with half a grin.

"Anything's better than being called a pain in the ass," he replied, sitting back, folding his arms.

Abby laughed, suspecting that in time, things would look up for him.

"Are we gonna just sit here?" The rainfall was not violent, but unpleasant all the same.

"A little rain never hurt anybody." Home was dry, but it was also four empty, lonely walls.

"Tell that to the guy with the Ark, locked up with every beast known to man."

Jokes aside, she did not want to leave him sitting alone with his thoughts, as she had done twice over the past twenty-four hours. So they sat, shoulder to shoulder, watching the fine hazy rain fall along the sides of the metal sculpture like silent, hopeful tears.


	4. Loss, Strain and Butterflies

Title: The Burn

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: No, I haven't forgotten about this, real life has just intervened somewhat! Apologies, I hope someone's still reading out there! The quote opening this chapter comes from my good friend Natasha's poem, "The Muses' Darling" and was used with her permission :) Please let me know what you think, thanks.

"I sit stifled in a room choked with silence."

Thin, green light brightly defined numbers on the alarm clock. An autumnal breeze tugged slowly at the blinds, cool air spilling in from outside. Black darkness fell indiscriminately, coating everything it touched with uncertainty and loneliness. Not even a single star dared to open a twinkling eye.

Luka turned to examine the time, reading it as 4:15 am. At most, another two hours before any sort of daylight breached the dark. He had no idea why he was so awake. It had been almost two weeks now since Sam had left and a sort of emptiness still lingered about him. He had still heard nothing, still wondering if she would ever come back. It was not easy to erase the feelings that had built over time.

He was used to erratic sleep patterns, however; shift work conditioned your body that way. At least he was not drunk. He had promised himself not to make a return to drinking away his sorrows, not to fall once again into an unrelenting spiral of misery. Restless, he flicked on the lamp, white light at first too instant and harsh for his tired eyes. Blinking rapidly, he turned his attention to the phone. Fumbling about sleepily, he located his address book, then slowly dialled an unfamiliar number.

* * *

The dimly-lit porch seemed comforting in a way, pearly light falling slowly in amongst the changeable colours of the early hours. After a few hollow, resounding taps against the door, it was opened with a click. Despite the earlier phone call, Carter's eyes remained puzzled, silence passed as he opened the door wide and let Luka in. Not that anything needed to be said, each aware of the other's purpose. Hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans, Luka felt small, constricted, a little apprehensive as he followed along the long hallway.

"Drink?"

"Whatever's nearest." Now was not a time to resist the offers. A twist of the dimmer switch brought a little light into the living room, the filaments alive with a sudden, subtle glow.

"How did you know I would be awake?" Carter asked, while offering a glass with a few inches of whisky inside. He was still a little puzzled by the situation, but grateful for the company. For the silent understanding of someone who really knew what he was going through.

"The early mornings are the worst." The time when you expect your child to be waking you in a time of need for food or comfort. They both drank then, surrendering to the aching silence in the room. In the whole house.

"Any suggestions?" Carter knew his question was futile but found himself asking nonetheless.

"You could always leave the country," Luka replied dryly, creating some dark humour. A flicker of a smile passed both their expressions for the very briefest of moments. More whisky was poured rapidly into both glasses, the steady flow of alcohol somehow necessary to try and forge a conversation.

"You're on your own?" Luka had no idea why he was asking the question. This particular piece of gossip had been circulating the County rumour mill for at least a week now. It was seemingly never misinformed.

"Kem's gone back to Africa. We can't talk about it." His voice seemed bleak and redundant. What was there to say? Who was there to blame? Luka had played out many situations in his head, and more than once had found himself considering what may have happened if Danijela had survived. Would they have blamed each other for the death of their children? When you were alone, there was nobody to blame but yourself.

"Give it some time. At least you have a choice. You don't have to cope with it on your own." Something told him it was scant consolation, but hopeful nevertheless. It was not easy to share grief of this magnitude but it was probably worth trying to. Something in Luka's voice had an urgency and purpose that was hard to ignore, something almost desperate and hopeless that seemed to pierce Carter's wall of silence.

"Maybe." Certainty was not an option in the upside-down world of mourning.

Luka almost felt as if he was giving Carter a warning, telling him that he didn't have to follow the same path, carrying around the ghosts of your loved ones for so long, feeling the weight of their legacies like a yoke over your shoulders.

Without either of them being aware, time had shifted on, first light making the spirit's cinnamon glow against the crystal glasses more prominent, dawn's eager fists banging on the window, rushing the light forward.

"She feels the pain as much as you do."

"I just don't know what to say." Desperation slithered through his tone.

"We're not meant to understand these things. Just because we deal with death every day doesn't make it easier when it's personal. It won't go away, but it gets easier. Trust me." Luka knew he wasn't the best example of coping with the agony, but he knew how time, places, people and new memories faded the pain.

Carter felt the final caustic sting of alcohol tighten his throat as he finished the drink and found himself watching the impending dawn, bleak grey suddenly saturated with yellow and orange, the promise of a beautiful morning playing out before his eyes. Luka followed his eyeline, then spoke quietly.

"Every new day is a second chance." He didn't know where the philosophy came from, knowing that he had not lived by it, but also knowing that somebody else could. He got up then, suddenly eager for sleep again.

"You can probably get a flight to Paris in a few hours' time." Luka lingered in the doorway as he threw this final optimistic comment into this sad arena. Carter felt like this was not just speculation, but almost a command.

He nodded slowly, acknowledging the thought.

"Thank you." Luka just nodded and slipped away into the quiet of the new day, shielding his eyes slightly from the sun, beginning to set the shapes of the city aglow, bathing them in light. The new day was the new chance, as even the ugliest caterpillar may grow into a butterfly in time.


	5. Full Circle

Title: The Burn

Disclaimer: The ER characters or any products or lyrics mentioned do not belong to me.

Rating: PG-13

Author's Note: An appropriate day to post :) The final chapter, as I don't really have a long-term plan for this, as it started out as just an extra scene. But I may come back to it in the future. Please let me know what you think :) My thanks go out to everyone who helped me with this, albeit knowingly or unknowingly: Natasha, Sunny, Rowena, Claire and to Californiagirl for her last review: it was inspirational. A big thanks also to everyone who reviewed, I appreciate it no end. I'll be back writing again soon, to lift me out of my spoiler depression. Hel.x. Oh, and for my non-basketball fanatic readers: Toni Kukoc is a Croatian basketball player who played for the Chicago Bulls throughout their notorious successes in the 90s before being traded to Philadelphia and who now plays for Milwaukee to the best of my knowledge.

The swift movement of the ball made the rim shudder momentarily, the metal shivering in the static air; before the orange sphere nudged off the backboard and slid through the net, that grainy scratching sound was the sound of success.

It hit the ground with an energetic thump before it was collected by a steady hand. Luka tried not to consider the absurdity of shooting hoops in his suit, but then, things always seemed slow at the start of a shift. It was early, getting close to six, everything around him seemed empty and deserted. Pavements were glossy with a thin frost, the chill was biting with a razor-sharp iciness, a whisper of a breeze troubled the cold surroundings. It seemed that winter had begun to lay its cool kisses all around, even before autumn's technicolour haze had begun to ebb away. He bounced the ball lazily against the shiny asphalt before again putting up a successful shot with little effort.

"I think the Bulls could use you right now."

His eyes searched for the familiar voice out there somewhere in the icy air. Abby had been quietly observing for a few moments, one hand protectively pinning her coat to her waist, the other pushing her hair away from the wayward wind.

Luka eyed her suspiciously for a moment, wondering who would want to stand out in the unfriendly embrace of a bitter morning and watch him idle away a few minutes. Did some odd magnetism draw her into his tangled web? Somehow, he expected no less from the woman who had been so willing to try and chase away his sadness and erased the scepticism from his expression.

"I can't quite forgive them for trading Kukoc." He gave her the slightest glance, with just a hint of energy burning behind his eyes. A slight glow that convinced her to go and join him.

"Milwaukee might be nice this time of the year." There was a soft, comedic speculation in her tone as she moved just a little bit closer, drawing a smile from his tired face.

"How are you doing?" Her voice was more serious this time.

"Four from five so far," he replied quickly, his warm breath misting the atmosphere as he collected the ball again.

"I didn't mean basketball." "We haven't talked in a couple of days."

Luka shrugged, juggling the ball between both hands before bouncing it again slowly, in time with his mind's deliberation of his emotions. Mesmeric wisps of steam coiled away from the building and for the first time he felt the piercing needle of the numb morning. In contrast, her warm, dark eyes were full of questions, coiled-up so secretly, so subtly. Yet to him, they were so evident.

"There are worse things in the world than being dumped," he replied softly, but with some assurance. What was the use in believing in something that you could not find? His next one-handed shot flew threw the hoop without even touching the sides, not even rattling the rim.

"Speak for yourself," Abby replied, with a knowing, yet somehow sad smile. "Sorry," he said, reading her tone, cautiously offering her the ball.

She shook her head, hair rippling slightly with the movement.

"Forget it." Their gazes hung together like a curse for a moment, mere seconds of understanding passing between them. Nobody had the power to change the past, but the future could always be worked on, it was always available to provide solace and repair.

Another playful smile teased across her lips, as if she was unable to prevent it.

"I know what you meant. I almost got the impression that you were going to fly Carter back to Africa yourself."

She felt that his understanding of Carter's grief had slowly pulled him from the grip of melancholy. It was strange that now she was between them not as a division, but as another friend. She finally took the ball and leant slightly against him, arm to elbow, as she prepared to shoot.

"I gave him a nudge," Luka admitted, jolting his arm slightly, mischievously attempting to disrupt her shot.

"Cheat!" Her eager laughter rippled through dawn's wintry demeanour. Abby promptly readjusted and triumphantly scored.

"More like you bought him the ticket and fastened his seatbelt." Making light of the serious situation seemed the only way to comprehend the strange and often cruel passing of the seasons.

"They lost their child. They don't have to lose each other." Their fingertips brushed in a warm battle against the feverish chill dancing all around as he handed him the ball after retrieving it. Abby searched for the sadness in his eyes, but did not see it, only the mysterious fervour that seemed to be slowly building up, alongside the daylight.

"Are you out here for a cigarette?" He still wanted to attach some kind of meaning to her presence, part of him not wanting to believe she was there just to check if he was alright, and part of him already knowing that she was.

"Your faith in my willpower is just inspirational," she mocked, giving him a wry grin as she rocked the ball from hand to hand.

"I haven't smoked for almost a month. But I could really use some right now."

"Cigarettes?" Luka's expression was serious, but he was barely holding back the temptation to smile.

Abby laughed, and pretended to throw the ball at him, before throwing it up and missing this time.

"Seriously, did you have a bad night?" Concern bluntly edged his features for a moment, as for the first time he saw the sleepy shadows under her eyes.

"Yeah," she replied, nodding slowly, confirming and attempting to shrug away his anxieties, hugging the ball to her waist.

"Three dead teenagers, an elderly couple who had been robbed and a gang member full of bullet holes." The leaden, dismal sky seemed to push its weight firmly on her tired shoulders as she told him about her hellish night shift.

"Let's get some coffee," he suggested, eager to dispel the weariness rapidly creeping up on her.

Sensing a slight rebelliousness in his voice, she gazed at her watch.

"Don't you have to work in five minutes?"

"I can be late," Luka replied with a cast-iron certainty.

"So, that means that when Weaver gets mad at you, I get the job of removing the crutch from your auditory canal?"

"I wouldn't dream of asking anyone else."

They laughed and she threw the ball through the hoop for one last time before turning away to head in the other direction, pausing to make sure that she was not alone. A shock of caramel sunlight blinked through the grey swirls of the nebulous, heavy sky, before it retreated back behind the conquering haze. Yet, warmth would elude neither of them as he slipped his palm deftly across her back, pulling her away from the cold. Because, sometimes in an uncertain world of sadness and incompletion, things are meant to come full circle.


End file.
